


Don't Think About Elephants

by kiyala



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Community: 500themes, Crack, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-02
Updated: 2010-11-02
Packaged: 2017-10-13 00:52:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiyala/pseuds/kiyala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a test with one of Yusuf's new compounds goes wrong, Arthur and Eames find themselves in physical pain unless they're kissing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Think About Elephants

Arthur dreams of a large office block, made of glass, sharp angles, and stairs leading all over the place. His patent leather shoes tap against the hardwood and ceramic tiles with each step and he walks through the busy foyer, gaze sliding over the projections bustling around him, until he finds a woman sitting in a black, leather two-seater.

  
He sits beside her. "Hello Eames."

  
In the blink of an eye, a man is sitting in her place, full lips spread in a lazy smile. He leans back in the sofa, his legs stretched out in front of him. "Found me."

  
"You weren't really trying." Arthur's gaze doesn't move from those lips, and if Eames notices, he doesn't comment. He does, however, lean a little closer.

  
"Do you feel any different?" Eames asks. "Yusuf needs to know about any side effects of this new compound. As the subject, I haven't felt anything, but you're the dreamer."

  
"Nothing." Arthur says, unconscious of the way he sucks on his lower lip. Eames watches him closely, intently, and swallows hard.

  
"If I could do one thing right now," Eames murmurs, his voice rough and low. "…Even if it meant you'd shoot me in the stomach and let me bleed my way back to reality—"

  
"Eames," Arthur interrupts, impatient but not annoyed. Their eyes meet and they understand. They've been tiptoeing around this desire for years, now, and it's almost a relief to finally be giving in.

  
They lean into each other, eyes sliding shut, breath hitching in anticipation…

  
Yusuf really needs to learn to use the kick music during his experiments.

  
They both wake, sprawled in their own lounge chairs, gasping, eyes widening as they adjust back into reality. Arthur makes a quiet, dissatisfied sound at the back of his throat, and that is when the migraine begins.

  
He leans forward in his seat, pulling the needle out of his wrist and holding his head in his hands. There's a sharp pain at the very front of his head, and he shuts his eyes, clenching his teeth against it, waiting for it to pass.

  
"Side effect, Yusuf," Eames says, and he sounds just as agonised. "One _bitch_ of a headache. All of a sudden, I feel like death warmed up. And Arthur doesn't look any better."

  
Arthur cracks an eye open and looks at Eames, who is also sitting with his head in his hands. Eames tries to smile at him, but it turns into a wince of pain.

  
"I have painkillers in my bag," Arthur says, hunched over and dizzy.

  
"Oh Arthur," Eames manages to get some fondness into his voice. "Of course you would."

  
Yusuf finds them, glances at the packaging and hands them two each, with glasses of water. Arthur gulps them down and sighs as the pain eases; he knows it's a placebo effect, because the painkillers need time to kick in, but while the pain is still there—still sharp—it's manageable.

  
"So other than the headache," Yusuf asks them, pen ready to take notes. "Anything different? What did you do in the dream?"

  
Arthur glances at Eames, who clears his throat and speaks, "Played a game. I forged and hid, and Arthur found me. Nothing out of the ordinary, Yusuf."

  
"And what else did you do?"

  
Arthur's gaze is drawn to Eames' lips, and feels a stabbing pain at the front of his head again. He hisses and presses his fingers down against his temple. "Nothing else. You woke us up before we could."

  
"Before you could… what?" Yusuf raises an eyebrow, but Arthur is standing and turning away.

  
"I'm not sure the painkillers are working," he says, ignoring Yusuf's question. "I'll be back."

  
He heads to the bathroom, splashing water on his face, but it does nothing to help. He wipes his face and blinks the water out of his eyes to find Eames standing in the doorway.

  
"Feel any better?" Eames asks quietly.

  
"No," Arthur sighs, turning as Eames walks closer. "You?"

  
"Unfortunately, no." Eames pauses for a moment and looks at him. "Arthur. I was wondering if you'd mind, if we continued…"

  
Arthur is already taking a step forward, grabbing hold of the front of Eames' shirt and pulling him close. "Not at all."

  
Eames grins, and closes the gap between their lips. Arthur hums into the kiss, his arms wrapping around Eames and holding him close as they kiss, gentle at first but then harder, with tongues and teeth. They pull apart for breath, and Eames frowns.

  
"…Arthur, does your head still hurt?"

  
Arthur blinks, waiting, but he feels nothing. "No. Strange."

  
Eames' hands settle on Arthur's hips. "Whatever it was, it must have worn off. Good timing, too."

  
Arthur grins, but his reply is cut off by a groan as the headache returns; a sharp, searing pain at the front of his head. He rests his forehead on Eames' shoulder, and notices the way he's tensed against the pain too.

  
"It's back," Eames growls, "Just to spite me for speaking too soon."

  
Arthur places his hand on Eames' cheek, turning him so they're facing each other.

  
"I have a suspicion…" he begins, then clenches his teeth and grunts in pain. Instead of continuing, he leans forward and presses his lips to Eames'.

  
The pain disappears immediately, and Arthur frowns in thought. "I was right. Kissing you stops the headache."

  
"Right," Eames says with a nod. Then, he looks over his shoulder and yells, " _YUSUF_!"

  
"Coming!" Yusuf says, sounding worried.

  
The headache returns sooner this time, and Eames pulls Arthur into a lingering kiss. They're still standing with their lips together when Yusuf clears his throat.

  
"Did you call me here to let me know Ariadne's prediction was correct?"

  
"Prediction?" Arthur asks, pulling away from the kiss and wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

  
"Never mind. We're not betting on the two of you getting together. Not at all." Yusuf smiles unconvincingly. "What did you want to tell me?"

  
"We found another side effect of your new compound," Eames says, and it's a testament to his acting ability that he can look irritated when he and Arthur are still holding onto each other. "This headache only disappears when we kiss."

  
Yusuf stares, and then says, "Okay, let's sit down so I can get this straight."

  
He leads the way back to his workstation and sits down, peering at them in disbelief. "You're saying that you're in actual physical pain unless you're kissing."

  
"Well, when you put it like that…" Eames begins, and then considers it. "Yes."

  
Arthur can feel another headache coming on, and this time it builds up slowly. He ignores it until it gets unbearable, and he and Eames glance at each other.

  
"Excuse us," Eames mutters to Yusuf, leaning across to kiss Arthur. He sighs when their lips part, and nibbles on Arthur's lower lip. Yusuf clears his throat, and Arthur jerks back, quickly hiding his smile.

  
"The design of this compound was to make the dreamers' subconscious more prone to giving away their most deeply hidden information," Yusuf says and frowns in thought, "So that would mean that your deepest secret is that you want to—"

  
"Finish that thought," Arthur interrupts, "And I will shoot you."

  
Yusuf is silent. Eames kisses Arthur with a gentle smack of lips against each other. Yusuf raises an eyebrow. "You'll shoot me, with Eames attached to your face."

  
Without even having to look, Arthur draws his gun and points it directly at Yusuf's forehead. He pulls away from Eames just far enough to glance in the same direction and say, "Yes. So shut up."

  
Yusuf stands up, shaking his head. "You should be thanking me. For enabling you. I am a wonderful enabler."

  
Arthur doesn't dignify this with a reply, but he does put his gun away. Eames' hand is curled at the nape of his neck and even if it doesn't do anything to stave off the next headache, it does feel wonderful.

  
"We're out of commission until these headaches stop," Eames declares, and then gives Arthur a hungry look, lowering his voice, "I don't think we should be apart. And we also have the headaches to consider, so I'm taking you home with me."

  
"I'm driving," Arthur says, but the look in his dark eyes translates to a far more enthusiastic yes.

  
"I think you'll have it out of your system within a day or two," Yusuf says, turning back to his chemicals. "Come in tomorrow so I can see how you're progressing."

  
They barely manage to get to Eames' flat before their next headache becomes agonising. Eames shuts the door behind them and pulls Arthur into an open-mouthed kiss; messy and delightful as their tongues rub together and their hands wander.

  
They discover that the longer they kiss, the longer they can go before needing to kiss again. Not that this stops them, and they fall into Eames' bed, pulling their trousers off, stroking each other through their underwear and rutting against each other, panting and moaning into each other's mouths.

  
Sex, they find, is even more effective at keeping the headaches away. They fuck each other to the point of exhaustion, and the headaches stay away for long enough to let them sleep.

  


*

  
Arthur wakes the next morning with a dull throbbing behind his eyes, and Eames' arms wrapped around him. They turn so they're facing each other, and Arthur smiles.

  
"Good morning." Eames pecks him on the lips and gets up. "I'm going to shower and make us some coffee."

  
"Shower sex," Arthur proposes, sitting up. "The coffee can wait."

  
Eames thinks that perhaps he's just a little in love.

  
They're both in good moods by the time they get to work. Ariadne is there, grinning at them when they walk in together.

  
"Arthur! You've got beard burn!"

  
He wonders if she's meant to be concerned, because she sounds positively _gleeful_ about it.

  
Eames rubs his chin and sighs dramatically. "He made me shave. I haven't shaved since… my cousin's wedding, years ago."

  
"It was at the start of this year," Arthur mutters, mostly to himself, but Eames looks delighted.

  
"Oh, Arthur. You've been _stalking_ me!"

  
"Eames is blissed out of his bloody mind," Yusuf says, and narrows his eyes at Arthur knowingly. "You slept with him. Did it help the headaches at all?"

  
Arthur looks mortified, and Eames smirks, "Better than a fucking box of aspirin."

  
Ariadne looks like she may go catatonic with glee. "Yusuf. I win. You owe me a thousand dollars. And a cat."

  
"More interesting than poker chips," Eames allows, and pulls Arthur into a kiss because he can.

  
Arthur melts into the kiss for a moment, because he is not as much of a stick in the mud as Eames likes to pretend, and then orders them all back to work, because Yusuf is grumbling about money and cats, and Ariadne is staring.

  
But in the afternoon, the headaches begin to return. There's work to be done, which cannot simply be postponed, and Arthur and Eames stay close to one another, sitting side by side at Arthur's desk, having to settle for the occasional kiss between work.

  
It's inconvenient and distracting, and Arthur wonders whether it's just his paranoia, or if it's actually getting worse. By the time they all begin to head home, it's most definitely the latter; the headaches intensify faster and come more regularly. Yusuf tells them it's most probably an indication that their condition (he takes far too much pleasure in calling it that) will be getting better. After it gets much worse, of course.

  
"I believe this more than makes up for all the times I've wanted to kiss you, but couldn't," Eames says between kisses when they're back at his flat once again. "But to be honest, I'm looking forward to kissing you because I _want_ to, for once."

  
They're lying in Eames' bed, and Arthur is already dishevelled, his tie half-undone and his hair all over the place. He smiles, and his lips are deliciously swollen. Eames traces them with a finger and grins when Arthur catches it between his teeth.

  
"You know, if it really bothered you, we could stick to the bare minimum," Arthur murmurs as they kiss again. "We kiss a lot more than we strictly have to. And the sex isn't really _necessary_."

  
"Blasphemy," Eames declares, kissing Arthur loudly. "Sex is always necessary. Especially when it involves those delicious sounds you were making last night. And I've been kissing you all day and just waiting to get you naked."

  
"Just a suggestion, Eames," Arthur grins against the plush lips pressed to his own. "Doesn't mean I wanted you to actually take it. Besides, I want more of that wonderful thing you do with your mouth."

  
"Which wonderful thing?" Eames bites Arthur's neck hard and smirks. "I'm going to need a little specificity."

  


*

  
Like before, the sex manages to delay the next headache, but it still returns much sooner than before. Eames decides that this can be fixed with another round.

  
Still, by the time they get to work the next day, they're in agony unless their lips are against each other. Yusuf is blissfully unsympathetic, and Ariadne just cooes at them. Arthur is thankful that at least Cobb is at home with his kids, and not here.

  
"This isn't a very efficient way of doing work," Yusuf comments, during one of the several times Arthur pulls away from Eames to turn his attention to his work for five minutes before they're both making choked sounds of pain.

  
Without even turning away from each other, they move their hands in unison.

  
"Fuck…off…and…die," Ariadne translates, and makes an impressed sound. "Wow, you guys can use sign language? _Collaboratively_? Are you getting married yet?"

  
Arthur looks up long enough to glare. Eames signs with both of his hands this time: _had to do something between all the sex_.

  
Arthur hits him.

  
For the rest of the afternoon, Ariadne makes conversation with them purely so she can watch them sign together; Arthur's right hand and Eames' left, moving at precisely the same time, producing word after word without needing to look at what they're doing.

  
"If I didn't think it was so cute, I'd probably find it really creepy," Ariadne confesses. "Wouldn't you need to know each other to the point of being _psychic_?"

  
"Then, apparently, we do," Arthur says, pulling away from Eames, who gives him such an adoring smile that Ariadne feels like she's intruding. She turns back to her foam core buildings, but doesn't miss the way Eames rests his head on Arthur's shoulder, or the way Arthur's fingers trail across Eames' jaw. She doubts they're even aware of how openly affectionate they're being with each other, and it's a funny change from all the tension before.

  
When Ariadne leaves at the end of the day, she tells them that she hopes they recover soon. They sign a _thank you_ at her, even though the headaches are receding to the point where they can speak properly, and leave shortly after.

  


*

  
"So, are you going to be sick of me once this stops?" Eames asks, after their first round of sex, on the lounge room floor. Their lips are sore and swollen, and Eames' lips look ridiculously plump—Arthur can't stop staring.

  
"Is that your way of asking if I'm doing anything after this wears off?" Arthur gives him a sly grin. "Because it would be nice to do something with you that doesn't involve kissing, or having sex. Well. Not in excess, anyway."

  
"Oh, Arthur, you're going to be terrible, aren't you? I've gotten so used to having you at so much as a glance. Now you're going to make me work for everything."

  
Arthur grins, his fingers tracing the dip of Eames' collarbone. "Here I thought you'd appreciate the challenge."

  
"Oh, love," Eames smiles in return. "You know I always do."

  
When they go to sleep that night, Arthur nuzzles against Eames' neck with a content hum.

  
 _I love you_ , Eames signs in the dark, thinking Arthur won't see, but feels the lips against his skin spread into a small smile.

  
"Me too," he hears, just as he drifts off.

  
Arthur wakes the next morning, and the first thing he notices is that he doesn't have a headache. It's almost strange, _not_ having his head throbbing in pain, and he glances over to Eames, who sleeps on peacefully, similarly untroubled.

  
He thinks that today has the makings of a truly wonderful day.

  
He moves to get out of bed, but is stopped by an arm wrapped around his waist.

  
"Stay," Eames mumbles into his pillow. "No headaches today, and we don't have to be bright and early at work. Stay right here."

  
Arthur hesitates, but lets Eames pull him back down into bed. He's immeasurably pleased when Eames doesn't pull him into a kiss, but turns him before moving closer, so they're spooning instead. Eames' arms are warm around him, and his breath tickles the back of Arthur's neck.

  
They relax, enjoying the first moment they've spent together entirely by choice for the first time in three days, and Arthur thinks that, _yes_ , this is a wonderful day already.

  


x

  



End file.
